I'd like to start out by saying thank you to Miriam and to Mark and to
everyone who made this event possible. I'm honored to have been invited to
speak at this symposium. I was reading the event program earlier, and we
have presenters here today who've taught languages abroad,
who've been involved with NGOs, and who are part of the Fulbright scholarship, and it's
truly an honor to be here and share the stage with them today. The reason I'm here
is because of Professor Roberto Ludovico, who suggested I could add
something meaningful and compelling to the conversation we're having today.
Since I took my first class with him in the spring of 2013,
Roberto's impact on my Italian education has been immeasurable.
It was he who convinced me to pursue Italian as a second major and who
supported my decision to study abroad in Forlì. He has been a source of
constant encouragement, as well as occasional frustration
because of the academic excellence that he demands of all of his students. Obviously,
I wanted to use this opportunity to thank him for all he has done for my
career in languages at UMass. And when I was writing this speech, I
realized that my success as a language student has been entirely due to all the
teachers I've had over the years. More than any other subject, I believe that
language acquisition depends on active participation. Language proficiency
cannot be learned through reading or memorizing alone because the fundamental,
critical aspect of language is dialogue and the back-and-forth exchange
of words and ideas between student and instructor. So it is through this
lens that I'm going to focus my presentation today. I would like to talk
about the teachers both formal and informal who have contributed in some
way to my Italian education. My first Italian teacher at Acton-Boxborough
Regional High School was Signora -. I met Signora through study hall and
was quickly convinced to take her classes. She was fun, and she was
welcoming. And every year she held a winter celebration called 'cannoli fest',
which, as the name suggests, involved her and her father teaching a classroom of
high school students how to mix ricotta filling and pipe it into cannoli shells.
I loved the sense of community she fostered in our small Italian classes,
and I began to love the language, and the food, and the culture of
this country I had never felt connected to before. The summer of 2010, I went on a
school trip to the United Kingdom. On our first night in a hostel in Liverpool,
we met a group of Italian students who were visiting for the summer to improve
their English. Although my Italian skills at that time were limited, that basic
connection we had through language allowed us to communicate. And that's how
I met Matteo. He and I stayed in touch long after we both left that
hostel. The following spring he came to visit my family in Acton for two weeks.
Last May when I was abroad, I visited him in his new home, Lisbon. This December
I'll be going to his wedding. When I say Matteo has been like a
teacher to me, I don't mean in the literal sense. I mean that he has taught
me the value of enduring international friendships. His opinions on family and
culture may be totally different than mine, but knowing him is giving me
insight into an Italian perspective that cannot be gleaned from books and movies
alone. In the Fall of 2012, I started classes at UMass Amherst,
and during my time there I've had a number of excellent professors, including
Roberto. When I enrolled in a direct exchange program at the
University of Bologna, Forlì Campus last May, I was excited for a change of
scenery but assumed that a familiar academic environment awaited me.
My professors in Forlì quickly proved me wrong. I learned that in the Italian
university system, class grades are based entirely on one final test, which is
usually an oral exam conversation between student and teacher. Homework is
assigned, but no points are awarded for completing it. Attendance in
lectures is suggesting but not recorded. My translation instructor, Professor Oldcorn,
never taught from a textbook or used any reference materials. My
literature professor, Sam Whitsitt, took me out for coffee for our final exam, and we
talked about To Kill a Mockingbird for two hours. Studying under these Italian
professors, I developed increased self discipline and independence of thought.
Equally important, I realized that the American grading system is one
of many. No system is perfect, but each country tries to meet their own academic
standards and needs. Studying in Forlì taught me adaptability. I now have the
confidence in my ability to adjust to a new and unfamiliar academic climate.
I learned adaptability in those classrooms, but I also learned it outside
of the university walls: in the streets, in cafes and bars in Forlì, which in my
mind is no longer a city but a living, thinking entity that has a will of its
own. It has taken on a mythical status for me. My first week in Italy, it rained
every day. I had to find a grocery store to buy food and the mall to buy blankets,
and to do that I had to learn to read the bus schedule. It took me weeks to get
my living permit approved by the local police because I wasn't used to a public
office holding short hours. The city shut down every afternoon for lunch. I knew
when I was writing this speech that I needed to talk about the friends I made
during my time abroad because they had such an enormous impact on my life. And
they continue to do so. But it was so hard for me to put into words the love I
have for the student community. It is too bittersweet to dwell on it for more than
a moment, so I'll say only this: I made my best friends in Forlì.
It was the happiest time of my life. I met my boyfriend, James, who I adore, and
who motivates me when all else fails to finish my degree and pursue an
international career, so that we can continue our lives together.
So if I'm identifying my final teacher, or instructor, in this
process, it would be Forlì: the city that was at first disorienting and entirely
unfamiliar, with its own ways and reasons for doing things, that told me that I had
to learn the rules of this new game if I wanted to stay and live there. But I
had the Italian language, and with that, years of accumulated knowledge
behind me, and that was paramount. I could communicate respectfully, and I could ask
questions, and read maps, and make friends, and go traveling alone. I'm an anxious
person to begin with, and I believe there's a certain hysteria about American
students traveling in foreign countries. So many times I would say to
myself 'is it really wise', for example, 'to accept a car ride to Naples from a man I
met on the Internet and who speaks no English?'.
But when you love a place like I love Italy, there is a thing that will happen
when your desire to know and explore a place while you still can
supersedes the part of your mind that is pessimistic, and fatalistic, and warning
you to stay close to the familiar comfort of home. We can say perhaps that
what people fear more than anything is the unknown, but Italy is not unknown
to me anymore. I would like to close with a quote from Italo Calvino's novel,
Invisible Cities, which imagines a conversation between Kubla Kahn and
Marco Polo. "'There is still one city of which you never speak.' Marco Polo bowed
his head.
'Venice,' the Kahn said. Marco smiled. 'What else do you believe I have
been talking to you about?' The emperor did not bat an eye, 'And yet I've never
heard you mention that name.' And Polo said: 'Every time I describe a city I'm
saying something about Venice.'". For me, every time I talk about languages I'm
saying something about Forlì, about Matteo, and James, and my professors, and
everyone who has taught me, purposefully or not, something about Italy and about myself.